


Enough

by SabbyStarlight



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Because nobody could be bothered to take care of Quentin this season, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Post-finale Speculation, Sharing a Bed, So Eliot has a lot to fix, queliot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 08:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18494842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyStarlight/pseuds/SabbyStarlight
Summary: “Oh no, I’m not moving.”  Quentin shook his head and burrowed further into the couch.  “You were just saying that I need to rest, I’m resting.”“No, I said you need sleep,”  Eliot argued, standing his ground.  “Actual, healing, full-out REM, in a bed, sleep.”“Last time I checked, it was you who spent months possessed by a crazy monster with no regard for your personal health.  I think you’re the one in need of healing sleep.”  Quentin pointed out.Eliot rolled his eyes.  “Bed, Q.  Now.”





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> So I had hoped, after 4x05, that we would get to watch Queliot play out in the back half of this season. Obviously now we have a one-hour episode left to fix all these issues and while I’m holding out hope that we will get a moment (and we deserve for it to be a great one) with that little amount of time and Alice back in the picture, it’s not going to be the epic declaration of love resulting in a Queliot happily ever after that we were hoping for. At least not yet. So realistically, I’m hoping that instead of crushing our Queliot shipping hearts, they lead us into season 5 kinda like this…

Eliot unlocked the door to Marina-Sam-Kady-WhoeverTheFuck’s apartment with a magical twist of his fingers and sighed as he looked around the spacious penthouse. It had been home base for all of them, in the past few months, even after the monster problems had been solved, but it had yet to feel like home to him. The huge windows let in too much light that bounced all over the place, hopping from one reflective surface to another, catching on the sharp angles of the modern furniture. It was all too much. 

So he had gone back to Fillory with Fen and Josh, working to get Margo’s banishment lifted and her crown returned. He had hoped that maybe Castle Whitespire, with her fortress walls of cool stone and slightly medieval but charming glamour, would help him to feel back at home in his own body again, but he had spent the last week there and despite their success and the Fillorian people being ruled by the High King Bambi once again, his sense of belonging still hadn’t returned. 

He and Margo had returned to Breakbills, before Fillory, he had assumed that everything would go back to normal once he was back at the cottage. It was, after all, his literal happy place. But the actual, bustling, noisy, house was so unlike the one in his mind that it didn’t feel right anymore. Margo had helped him pack a bag of his own clothes (they had set off the apartment’s smoke detectors one night by ceremoniously burning all the monster’s idiotic graphic tee’s and bloodstained cardigans in the bathroom trashcan) and then they left. He knew he would return there one day, but he wasn’t ready just yet. 

What he found himself craving, ironically, was the one place he could never go. The only true peace he could find were the dreams of a faraway life. Of falling asleep under the watchful eyes of the Fillorian twin moons when the heat of summer made sleeping indoors unbearable. The feel of the grass beneath his bare feet as he chased Teddy around the Mosaic while Quentin watched on, eyes so unguarded and happy and full of love. Of Ari’s laugh, so contagious, and the smell of the loaves of bread she would bake every Saturday to last them throughout the week. Licking his thumb to wipe away a smudge of chalk from Quentin’s face. Of peaches and plums and peaches and plums and peaches and plums. He would wake from these dreams, homesick, with tear tracks on his face and the sweet tang of memories, bittersweet and heavy like overripe fruit, on his tongue. 

The closest thing he had though, to that home, was Quentin sprawled across the monstrosity of a sofa in the living room, seemingly asleep. He quickly smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt, hoping it wasn’t too horribly wrinkled from his trip back from Fillory, as he made his way across the apartment’s shiny floors. He was wearing a simple navy blue buttondown tucked into a pair of grey trousers he’d had to magically alter because the monster’s diet of cheese puffs and booze had left all his old clothes hanging off his thin frame. He hadn’t worked up the energy to go back to all his ties and vests yet. He had tried, in those first few days post-possession, but it had felt like he was playing dress-up, pretending to be a version of himself he wasn’t anymore. 

He didn’t have long to appreciate the view of the younger man in front of him, before Quentin tensed, eyes flying open in panic upon seeing Eliot, before relaxing, tension draining from his body, when he realized that it truly was Eliot, not some psychotic child wearing his body, in front of him. Eliot fought back a wince and wondered how long it would take his Q to heal from the turmoil the monster had put him through. “Hey,” He said softly, cursing his voice for warbling on the one simple syllable. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“Wasn’t asleep,” Quentin assured, though the yawn that followed the words seemed to think that sleep was exactly what he needed. He stretched his legs out across the couch and pulled one arm up, curling his hand behind his head and leaving Eliot struggling to ignore the strip of skin revealed when his shirt moved. 

He’d lost the right to stare appreciatively at the man in front of him when he had foolishly turned down his offer upon their return from the mosaic lifetime. Q had offered him his heart, along with the fifty years proof of concept to back up his slightly insane proposition, and Eliot had taken that beautiful gift and crushed it in his hand. And now that he finally realized that what he really wanted, needed, had been Quentin all along, he was too late. 

He remembers waking up in Margo’s arms and her sobbing, chest heaving and mascara streaking, pulling him into a hug. When they were finally standing, drawing strength from being still wrapped in each other’s arms, Quentin’s eyes had been the first things he saw over her shoulder. “I’ll explain everything later.” He promised her in a whisper, dropping a kiss on her forehead and squeezing her hand. He had strolled right up to Quentin, his gait a little shakier than usual but determined nonetheless. He rested one palm against Q’s pounding heart and curled the other behind his neck, like he had done so many times before, and poured all his love and regrets and newfound courage into a kiss that conveyed it all better than words ever could. It was Quentin who broke away first, which was nothing unusual, but when Eliot opened the eyes he didn’t remember closing and found the look on Quentin’s face to be the exact opposite of a smile, he knew something was wrong.

“El, I-uh, we…” He stammered, eyes darting from Eliot’s own and then off to the side and back again. 

Eliot had steeled himself then, taking a breath because he had known this was a possibility, and prepared for rejection. When he turned his head and found that it was Alice that Q had been looking at and the entire puzzle finally clicked into place, that was an entirely new level of hurt. He had forced his face into what he hoped was close to a smile and shifted both his hands until they were resting, entirely platonically, on Quentin’s shoulders. “Sorry,” He said, begging his voice not to crack. “Got caught up in the moment I guess. I’m just happy to see you.” 

And then Josh’s arms were around him, in a hug confusing and surprising enough to distract him from his own head for a moment and Margo’s hand knowingly found it’s way back into his and their dysfunctional little family was swept away in the moment of jovial relief that their battle was over. Though to Eliot, it felt like his was just beginning. 

His miserable stroll down memory lane was interrupted by Quentin’s voice breaking through. “Sorry,” He said, sitting down at Quentin’s feet. “What were you saying?” 

“Margo?” Quentin supplied. “Fillory? Everything okay?” 

“Oh!” Eliot smiled in relief. “Yes. Not only did we get the banishment lifted, but Margo is once again ruler of Fillory. With Fen as newly appointed Royal Advisor, of course.” 

“That’s good to hear.” Quentin smiled back. “So I guess we’ll be seeing less of her now?” 

“That is the downside to all this, yeah.” Eliot agreed. “But they are working on getting all of us designated as Earth ambassadors, meaning we can create an official portal from here to there so that should be easier than enlisting Uber23’s help.” 

Quentin nodded, sinking further into the couch cushions, eyes drifting closed again. 

“How about things here?” Eliot asked, not wanting the moment, which had been one of the few since his return that hadn’t been awkward or interrupted, to end. 

“Hmmm,” Quentin hummed, lazily opening his eyes. “Kady seems to have really found her place.” 

“Hedge bitch’s Queen Bitch.” Eliot agreed. It somehow made perfect sense. 

“And with Zelda having, um, permanently transferred to The Library: Underworld Division,” He began. 

“Polite way of saying she died.” Eliot interrupted. 

“Right.” Q smiled. “Well, they kinda needed someone to step up and take care of things. Alice... volunteered.” 

“To become a Librarian?” Eliot asked.

“Not exactly, but, yeah.” Quentin shrugged. “More like, they decided that having the Librarians report to other Librarians who then report to other Librarians further up the ladder wasn’t the best system. Maybe what they needed was someone who is the best magician Earth has ever seen and has more knowledge of how it and all the other world’s out there work than everyone else. Someone wicked smart who cares too much about everything but herself and is inherently good and fair. And she just happens to have an in with Earth magicians and Librarians in multiple branches.” 

“Seems reasonable.” Eliot agreed. “But that means she’s not… Are the two of you…?” 

“No, she broke it off.” Quentin said with a sigh. “Honestly it’s for the best. I think we were both, I don’t know, healthier? When we weren’t together? I love her but I’m not sure I was ever in love with her, ya know?” 

“I do,” He assured. “I’m sorry. And I know it’s a pointless question but, you okay?”

“I think I really am.” Quentin nodded. “I’m not really sure why I even started it back up with her to begin with...” His words trailed off with another jaw-popping yawn. 

“Q, when was the last time you slept?” Eliot asked, voice tinged with concern. “Don’t take this the wrong way but you look dead on your feet.”

“Joke’s on you cause I’m not even on my feet right now.” Quentin teased, as he poked his socked feet into the bottom of Eliot’s ribcage and the playful tone tugged at Eliot’s heartstrings, reminding him of all those easy years at the mosaic 

He took advantage of the moment, pulling at Quentin’s ankles until his feet were propped up on his lap. “I’m serious, Q.” 

“I sleep,” He answered with an eye roll. “I’m up to a couple hours a night now. Trust me, that’s an improvement.” 

“That’s still not enough.” Eliot declared. “And I might not have been around to make you take care of yourself these last few months but I’m here now.” He clapped his hands down on Quentin’s calves before pushing his legs off the sofa and standing up. “Come on.” He ordered, reaching out a hand. 

“Oh no, I’m not moving.” Quentin shook his head and burrowed further into the couch. “You were just saying that I need to rest, I’m resting.” 

“No, I said you need sleep,” Eliot argued, standing his ground. “Actual, healing, full-out REM, in a bed, sleep.”

“Last time I checked, it was you who spent months possessed by a crazy monster with no regard for your personal health. I think you’re the one in need of healing sleep.” Quentin pointed out. 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Bed, Q. Now.” 

Quentin sighed, knowing there was no point in attempting to win an argument with a determined Eliot Waugh, and reached out to take Eliot’s hand, and allowed the older man to pull him to standing. 

El didn’t let go of his hand until they made it to one of the apartment’s bedrooms. It was the one Margo had claimed upon returning from her trek into the desert and it was where he had slept off the worst of his post-possession hangover over the course of three days. He knew it had an attached private bathroom and heavy drapes to block out sunlight, not to mention a bed that was both huge and insanely comfortable, so it met all his requirements. “Get some rest, Q. I’m gonna go check the wards on this place.” 

Quentin nodded and headed towards the bed, kicking his way out of his jeans along the way. 

He was asleep by the time Eliot made it back to check on him. 

Unfortunately, the peaceful moment didn’t last long. Half an hour later Q’s screams had Eliot running back to the bedroom. 

“Q, hey,” Eliot said, quickly casting a soft glow from the bedside lamp, just enough light to see Quentin thrashing around in the sheets. “Q?” He placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, a move that caused Quentin to immediately jolt upright, panting. 

“You’re alright,” Eliot soothed, brushing sweaty hair off Quentin’s forehead. “Just a bad dream.” 

Quentin nodded, catching his breath while panicked eyes roamed the room. “Sorry,” He finally whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. 

“Nothing to apologize for,” Eliot assured. “Wanna talk about it?” 

“Definitely not,” Quentin said with a shudder. 

“Well, I was wrong.” Eliot teased. “Sleep apparently doesn’t sit right with you at the moment.” 

“I told you it wasn’t really my thing anymore.” Quentin agreed with a sigh. 

An idea quickly formed in Eliot’s mind. There were a million red flags that popped up immediately after, but he pushed them all aside. Instead, he stood up and began unbuttoning his shirt. 

“What’re you doing?” Quentin asked, looking anywhere but at where Eliot was undressing beside him.

“Sleeping,” Eliot answered nonchalantly

“I don’t think…” Quentin started but Eliot interrupted him before he could fall further into his destructive spiral. 

“Q this doesn’t have to mean anything,” Eliot promised, tilting Quentin’s head up with his thumb. “Okay? You can’t sleep and I have fifty years of experience with fixing that problem. Let me help.” 

Quentin nodded hesitantly. “So… sleep?” 

“Sleep. That’s it.” Eliot agreed, moving to slip his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, taking care to fold and drape it across the back of the nearest armchair. He looked up when he felt Quentin’s eyes watching his every move and looked up to find him smiling at him in wonder. “What?” 

He nodded towards the neatly folded shirt as if it was so much more than a piece of fabric. “I’m just glad to have you back.” 

Eliot smiled back and quickly changed into a pair of satin pajama pants Margo had packed for him before slipping between the sheets beside Quentin. “C’mere.” He said softly, holding his arms open. “This doesn’t have to be weird, Q.” 

After a moment of hesitation, gnawing on his bottom lip in a way that Eliot was trying not to let drive him crazy, he gave in and pillowed his head on Eliot’s chest, letting the older man’s arms come up to wrap around him. 

“Do you remember the park?” Quentin asked suddenly. “When you broke through?” 

“Peaches and plums, motherfucker.” Eliot agreed with a smirk. 

“Peaches and plums,” Quentin whispered back, almost as if speaking to himself, before continuing. “When you said that, chose those words and then you looked at me like that. I thought…” He shook his head. “And then we got you back and you kissed me… Was I reading that right?” Quentin asked, lifting his head up to meet Eliot’s eyes. “Is that, us, are we an option?” 

“Nothing would make me happier,” Eliot assured. “I know I hurt you when we got our memories back of that life and I turned you down, but if anything good came from this whole monster mess, it was that I realized how much I need you in my life, Quentin Coldwater.” 

“Would… would you hate me if I said I needed to think about it?” Quentin asked, tucking his head back into Eliot’s chest shyly. “I just don’t know if I’m ready to risk… that… just yet.” 

“Of course not.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of Quentin’s hair. “We don’t need to have this conversation right now, alright? Let’s slow down, take this one step at a time, and once we’re back to ourselves we can talk this out.” 

They were silent for a few moments, breath mingling, both mulling over the other’s words. 

“What about tonight?” Quentin asked, and Eliot could tell just with those three words that he was nearly asleep. 

“Tonight we sleep,” Eliot said, carding his fingers through Quentin’s hair. “And I don’t know what’s going to happen next. But I can promise you one thing, come morning? I’ll be right here.” 

It wasn’t a perfect ending, not by a long shot, but it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Do I think tomorrow night is going to end like this? No. But I’m hopeful for it to not end in tragedy. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this little bit of Queliot fluff to get us through finale day! 
> 
> I’m also SabbyStarlight on Tumblr if you wanna come say hi and yell about this show and these two guys!


End file.
